A Torn Quilt
Bring out the seamstress
la mujer who sowed la primera bandera
tu sabes, la guera. Supply her
with a needle and brown thread
to mend the torn quilt.
Invite la otra mujer
a la ceremonia
la llorona of Anglo Saxon America
standing with her open arms
in musty waters out east
who said “Give me your tired,
your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to be free,”
so she can see
las condiciones horribles
as her words dribble down
sinking into a sea of despair
disintegrating
into a society, lost in incivility
for those seeking upward mobility.
The color brown
is now watered down,
clorox mixed with agua purificada
soaked in red
from many bodies of the dead
laying in barren regions
jovenes with torn hands
pierced by barbed wire
made by paternalistic attitudes
while mothers con dedos torcidos
counting uselessly
piles of immigrants being swept
through a model of social sanitation
while destroying God’s human creation
the destruction of a great nation.
There are now great big walls
leading to empty halls
unfinished malls
no more long distance calls.
Guards standing tall
at the gates
killing immigrants
piece work at low rates
fulfilling Malthusian economics
supply side Reaganomics.
A new trail of tears
built on human fears
filled with sangre molida
as the rich toast sangria
tipping their champagne glasses
toasting homogenization
protection of western culture
flying like a vulture
over a flag at half-mast
its head bowed in mourning
unable to stop a human flood
crashing through
walls made of steel
human emotion unable to feel
clogged arteries filled with
human meth
caused by undue death.
Pantiones transformed into
premature burial grounds
without headstones
only names scribbled in sandstone
about Raza
who stopped
not for Reconquista
but to visit tierra y familia
being torn apart
by a broken heart
a broken covenant
written by the Almighty
with mandates
“to love your neighbor
as yourself”
and “thou shalt not kill”
washed away
by a Desert Storm
uncovering calaveras
with broken bones
dented skulls
waiting for El Dia de los Muertos
a visit from the spirits of carnales
a recuerdo about lost lives
a time to keep cultural anthropologists
digging through graves
like men out of caves.
There are now huge walls
instead of civic halls
minutemen on the loose
brains dipped in truth serum
a mentality filled with racial quagmire
ready to hire
innocent immigrants
wearing bandanas
trabajadores sin paples
unable to savor
cool water on moist labios
lips sealed like cement
with no money to pay the rent.
Let’s tear down the wall
build a bridge
without lamentations
to soothe scorched nations
let’s repair the multicultural quilt
add in brown thread
cleanse the guilt
sew the severed damage
rethread the mosaic
toast with chocolate
about a time in history
when the mystery
about brown skinned raza
served una causa. A time when dignity
was not left at la frontera
while crossing
a fictitious border
con puertas ceradas.
Viva los Inmigrantes!
Ramon Del Castillo
Copyright 6-18-06
